


Brothers, After All

by orphan_account



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: But mostly fluff, Gen, brothers are brothers and love each other, maybe like one smidgen of angst, toxin induced asthma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 15:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13367274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Something isn't right with Damian's breathing, and Tim finds himself more concerned than he expected to be.





	Brothers, After All

They are sitting on the couch, each keeping to their own devices and doing their best to ignore the other’s presence, when Tim hears it. A slight rattling sound, like a wind up car had been placed on its back to let its wheels spin without rocketing away. Tim listens closer for the source of the rattle, but he already knows it could only be coming from one person.

Damian had inhaled a toxin a few weeks prior that had induced symptoms of a full-fledged asthma attack. Bats had rushed him to Leslie and he was breathing fine again by the end of the night, but Leslie expressed concern that some of the symptoms could resurface, and the next day the “perfectly healthy, Grayson, stop your attempts to coddle me” - Damian Wayne was in possession of a brand new inhaler. That he is clearly not using as he should.

Tim looks more carefully at his brother, and sees his eyebrows drawn in concentration, though not on the sketchbook in front of him. He is obviously trying to fix his breathing without the help of his doctor-ordered albuterol, and will only exacerbate the problem if he avoids using the medicine for too long.

“Damian…” Tim ventures carefully, trying to sound concerned without being interpreted as patronizing by a hyper-sensitive ten year old.

“Yes, Drake?” Damian responds dully, but it comes out short, the words cut off at the end by a stuttering breath.

“Do you have your inhaler?” Tim braces himself for physical retaliation at the implication of weakness, but Damian only shifts uncomfortably and doesn’t answer. Tim stands up from the couch, taking a step towards the doorway.

“I’ll go get it. Where did you put it last?”

Damian scowls at him, but the scowl breaks quickly as he re-focuses on controlling his breaths.

“I’m - _wheeze_ \- perfectly fine - _wheeze_ \- Drake.”

“Uh, no. Clearly you’re not.” Tim’s lungs ache in sympathy at the rattled cough Damian lets out. “Look, it’s not a reflection on you or your abilities if you need help from an inhaler. Doc said there was a decent chance whatever that toxin messed with in your lungs would have some lingering effects, that’s why we have the inhaler around in the first place. Just let me know where it is, I’ll grab it for you, and we can both pretend this didn’t happen.” Tim thinks for a second. “Unless it gets worse or keeps happening or something, then we’re gonna have to tell B, or at least Alfie.”

Damian doesn’t look happy, but lets out a strangled, “Bedside - _cough_ \- table, top drawer.”

And with that, Tim is out of the room and up the stairs, trying to quell the worry stirring in his gut about how rapidly Damian’s breathing had become so ragged.

In Damian’s room, Tim yanks open the drawer of his bedside table, rummaging through pencils, sketchbooks, and – family photos? Until finally he comes across the inhaler, shoved toward the back of the drawer.

Tim sprints down to stairs to find a Damian who is red in the face and obviously struggling to breathe, though still pretending as though nothing is happening at all.

“Here-“ Tim says, shoving the inhaler into Damian’s hands. “You know how to use this, right?”

Damian scrunches up his face but nods, bringing the inhaler to his mouth and taking multiple puffs of it, his inhales getting easier with each one.

As Damian’s breathing evens out and his face returns to its normal color, Tim notices him shifting in his seat, obviously torn between thanking Tim for his help and darting out of the room to avoid acknowledging his weakness.

Tim decides to make it easier on the kid, getting up himself to leave the room, but Damian speaks up before he makes it very far.

“Drake, I –"

Tim stops, turning to face Damian, and waits.

“Thank you. For your help.”

“What are brothers for, Dami?” Tim risks his safety by leaning in to ruffle the kid’s hair, but receives a half-hearted glare instead of a blade through his person. “You should probably let Bruce or Alfred know about this, though. Just in case you need to see Doc Thompkins again. Better safe than sorry, and all that.”

Damian tightens his position on the couch, but doesn’t argue the point.

Tim thinks that maybe this is proof. The inexperienced offer of gratitude, the allowance of physical contact, the lack of malice in response to the nickname or the advice, maybe this is proof of what Dick has been saying all along, that Tim and Damian really are brothers.

Or at least, maybe they’re getting there.

**Author's Note:**

> @ DC give me more positive interactions between these boys


End file.
